


Yes, Shawn, There is a Santa Claus

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Psych
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-24
Updated: 2006-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-25 01:23:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1624139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for lady_match</p>
    </blockquote>





	Yes, Shawn, There is a Santa Claus

**Author's Note:**

> Written for lady_match

 

 

"Shawn, I swear, if you get me in trouble, I'm going to kill you."

Shawn rolled his eyes at his best friend. "Fine, Gus, if you don't want to stay, then go be a good boy and go back to bed." Gus pointed the way out of the bush they were hiding in, back to the quiet house just two doors down the moonlit street. "Your parents are already asleep; they'll never notice you were gone."

Gus scowled, the thirty-year-old expression completely at odds with the eight-year-old face. He had a habit of doing things that looked old on him; sometimes Shawn thought Gus might be from some weird alien race where people aged backwards, and that he was actually older than the people he called his parents. "If I don't get my Green Spirit action figure because of you, I'm throwing your bike in the ocean."

And then sometimes Shawn knew Gus was eight. "Will you shut up already? We both know you're not going to throw my bike anywhere."

"Don't count on it." Gus folded his arms over his chest, glaring sideways at Shawn. "I might surprise you one of these days."

"Right, I'll be sure to call Mr. Guinness when that happens."

"How many times do I have to tell you that there is no Mr. Guinness who writes that book?" Gus began ticking off information on his fingers in a way Shawn knew better than to let continue. "The Guinness Book of World Records is compiled by a team of--"

Shawn gave Gus a "now what?" look as he held his hand firmly clasped over Gus's mouth. "Done?" Shawn asked after a minute. Gus nodded, eyes wide, and Shawn moved his hand.

"We have to be quiet anyway," Gus said, "or we'll never see him."

"We're not going to see him anyway. I told you, he doesn't exist."

"He does. Mom said so."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Parents all say that."

"Are you calling my Mom a liar?"

"Well she's not telling you the truth."

Gus grabbed Shawn's arm. "Take it back."

"No."

"Take it back!"

Shawn glared for a few seconds. "You're Mom's not a liar," he said, finally.

"Okay." Gus let him go.

"She just didn't tell you the truth's all I'm saying."

"Shawn!"

"Gus!"

"Shhh!" Gus grabbed Shawn and dragged him down. "I smell something."

Shawn yanked his arm out of Gus's grasp. "Maybe you smell that your story is stinky bullcr--"

"Shawn!" Gus hissed at him. "Cut it out!"

Rolling his eyes again, Shawn sat up, though he was careful not to sit high enough to be seen over the bush this time. "What's wrong, Gus, afraid Santa might hear me say a bad word?"

"No, but your Dad's ears are better than my nose. He can hear bad words as far away as Superman."

"He wishes."

"Real mature, Shawn." Gus was shaking his head. "We're not in kindergarten anymore, you know."

"I know that." Shawn plopped back down on the small patch of ground he'd claimed inside the bush. "We're not grown ups either, you know."

Gus straightened his back. "Maybe not, but there's no reason we can't act mature."

"Sure there is. We're eight."

"I bet your dad would like it if you acted a little more mature," Gus coaxed.

"My dad would like it if I was a robot." Shawn. "A police-programmed robot that knew what an eleven-dash-twenty-two was, and could recite the Moronda rights from memory."

Gus frowned. "I think it's Miranda."

"No it's not. Miranda's a girl's name. And only a moron wouldn't know to keep his trap shut if he got caught doing something, so Moronda makes more sense. Moron? DUH?" Shawn nodded as if that settled it all. "See?"

"I thought it was named after the guy who sued the police."

"You need to stop spending so much time talking to my Dad!" Shawn picked up a rock and started pounding at another rock stuck in the dirt. "He puts a bunch of stupid stuff in your head that nobody but cops ever needs and doesn't care about the good stuff like baseball and surfing and comics."

He took a peek at his friend, to see that Gus had scrunched up his nose. "Doesn't sound like much fun," Gus said after a minute. "Hey, my dad made me go down to his office once. There were a bunch of guys in suits and ties who spent their whole day on the phone being nice to a bunch of people they talked bad about the second they hung up with."

"Did they put anybody in handcuffs and lock them up?"

"Well...no...they're just salesmen."

"That makes them nicer to people than cops."

"Cops are only not nice to criminals."

"Criminals and their own kids."

Before Gus could say something else, he heard a noise and jerked around to peer out of the bush. "Look!" he whispered, pointing towards the back of Shawn's house. "I told you I smelled something!"

"Right, because the Super Smeller never lies," Shawn said mockingly.

"Then what's that, dummy?"

Shawn looked through the branches, and his eyes widened. That was most definitely a very large man in a red suit. "It's a fat guy with a bad tailor," he said, waving dismissively, even as he kept an eye on the man. "He probably wants to steal our TV."

Gus let out a big, fake sigh. "Santa Claus does not steal TVs."

"Oh yeah? Then where does he get the ones he gives people?"

"So you agree he really does come give things to people then?"

"I never said that." Shawn was still watching the man out of the corner of his eye. He had a bag now, and he was walking around to the back of Shawn's house. "But if you were really right and not crazy, how would he get the TVs?"

"The elves make them."

"The elves can make TVs?"

"The elves can make anything."

Shawn saw the man come back around the house, still carrying his bag, but it looked a little smaller now. "There he is again," Shawn said, watching carefully. He saw the man creep into the backyard next door and then he was gone. "If he was Santa Claus," Shawn said, looking at Gus, "where's his sleigh? Where's the deer?"

"Reindeer."

"Whatever."

"He probably parks them at the end of the street or something. I don't know. Do I look like an elf or something?"

"Your ears are big enough."

Gus glared. "Fine. Don't believe me. I showed you Santa Claus. That was the deal. Now I'm going home." He turned and pushed his way out of the bush, and Shawn watched him stalk over to the back yard next door and disappear as well.

Shawn waited a few seconds and crept out of the bush, rounding his house from the other side and sneaking up onto the porch. He was almost to the back porch when he tripped over something. He turned around to see a brightly wrapped package with a shiny bow. When he squinted at the tag, his mouth dropped open.

"To Shawn. From Santa," he read out loud. He glanced quickly over his shoulder, standing up to peer over the hedge in the backyard, but there was no sign of the man in the red suit, or of Gus. He turned back around and stared at the present again before ripping the paper off as fast as he could.

And there, impossibly, was almost certain proof that Santa Claus actually did exist. Because there was no way his parents would ever buy him a Green Spirit action figure. Gus was the only one who even suspected he wanted one almost as much as Gus wanted one. But Shawn had told Gus he didn't really care that much, so even he wouldn't know. He'd have to hide it, but that had to be okay, or else Santa wouldn't have given it to him, right?

Grinning, Shawn opened the package and pulled out the figure, running out to put the wrap and the package in the trash bags already behind the house waiting for trash day. His dad would never see it there. Gripping the action figure tightly, Shawn snuck back into the house and up to his room to play with his figure for a while before he had to tuck it away someplace safe.

From his spot behind the hedge next door, Gus grinned up at the man in the red suit. "Thanks, Dad," he said, giving his father a hug. "I owe you one."

"What are dads for?" his father asked, hugging him back. "Besides, everybody should have a happy Christmas, right?"

"That's what I've been trying to tell Shawn forever," Gus said with the exasperation that only the very young could get away with.

His dad laughed. "Well, maybe you showed him tonight. Come on, let's go home, or Santa won't bring you anything tonight either."

"Okay." Gus took his father's hand and let him lead the way back to their house.

\---

END

 

 

 


End file.
